In the Night
by CCroquette
Summary: It's easiest to face the darkness when you know you're not alone.  Sequel to 'What We Must'


Note: This is a sequel to 'What We Must.'

* * *

><p>The Soviet Union formally ended its existence on December 25, 1991.<p>

Ivan Braginski was not there.

* * *

><p>They say that the Lubyanka is the tallest building in Moscow - after all, you can see Siberia from the basement.<p>

Ivan couldn't see anything. His cell was dark.

He hadn't kept good track of time, but he knew that things were going wrong. He could _feel_ it. Though he and the rest of the USSR were separate nations, their union had made a tenuous connection between them, a link that he felt, omnipresent and lingering - until it disappeared. He wondered if this was what dissolution felt like.

He sat, alone with his thoughts and the darkness and the ever-increasing ache of emptiness. He felt himself weakening, exhausted and bruised, and wondered what had happened. No news was forthcoming.

Until finally he heard a _click_, the distinct noise of the lock opening, and he tensed, readying himself for the inevitable attack, fists clenched and teeth bared in a snarling smile. Instead of rushing into his cell as they always did the guard only let the door swing open. He let the door swing open, and when he saw Ivan looking at him, he turned and ran, boots clattering on the floor.

Ivan stayed where he was, blinking at the light.

He stayed where he was until they finally did come for him. They entered the cell without so much as a word and grabbed for him, trying to drag him out. He struck lashed out, swinging fists and thrashing and biting, because didn't they see, everything was falling apart and everyone was falling apart and this was how it happened - until he felt the sting of a needle, and then the darkness won the fight.

* * *

><p>He woke up in a hospital bed, needles in his arms and wrists strapped down tight.<p>

A nurse held up a cup of water for him. "Small sips," she admonished, before he even had a chance to drink.

He didn't want to.

"Vodka," he rasped out, voice hoarse and ugly with disuse. She jumped, when he spoke, and then she shook her head. She was frightened of him, he realized, and he felt guilty.

He turned his face away, and waited for unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>When he woke up next he found that someone had unbound his arms and left him a stack of political analyses and news updates. He read them with a half-cynical, half-concerned eye, and confirmed what he'd already known. Dissolution.<p>

He'd talked to the jumpy nurse again, asked to speak to _someone_, anyone in authority, so he could leave here and do something about the situation. She'd squeaked out some unintelligible answer, and hurried out of the room, but afterward there had been no further response.

He'd tried to get up and leave, to go to _them_ and make himself be heard, but captivity had weakened him, and it was simple for the doctors to wrestle him back into bed, the looks on their faces a mixture of fear and pity.

This was not how he had wanted it to end.

* * *

><p>Several silent days later he woke up in the middle of the night, disturbed from sleep by a movement at the edge of his bed.<p>

"Matvei?"

Matthew smiled. "Hey. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

He blinked sleepily, trying to comprehend. "What - why - "

"I heard what was happening, and I thought you could use a friend."

A friend. That was… new. He fumbled for something to say, but before he could find the words Matthew had started speaking again.

"And...I didn't see you on the news. I tried calling, but couldn't get through, so…"

His brow was furrowed, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Worry, Ivan realized. That was new, too.

"I was in prison until five days ago." It came out sounding far less reassuring than he'd meant it to. "There is no need to worry. How did you get in here?"

"Oh." Matthew shrugged. "People don't always see me, so it was easy."

He felt like there was something he was missing there, but he was too exhausted to figure it out. He coughed, and put a hand on Matthew's shoulder, using it as a brace to haul himself up. "I need to leave."

"Why?"

He shook his head. He couldn't even articulate it to himself, let alone in English. He just knew he had to get _out_, away from the pitying glances and the frightened stares. If he got out he could set things right.

"Ivan -" Matthew took his hand, and stopped, startled. "Ivan, you're burning up. What happened to you?"

"I have been hemorrhaging republics. It is...unpleasant." Slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and made to stand up - and swayed, dizzy. Matthew reached out to steady him. "I must leave. _Please._"

He'd never begged for anything in his life. He hoped Matthew would understand.

Matthew nodded, and helped him to his feet.

* * *

><p>Somehow, miraculously, they made it out of the building and into the street without anyone stopping or questioning them, for which Ivan was extremely grateful. They moved slowly down the frigid pavement, Ivan's arm slung over Matthew's shoulder.<p>

"How do we get to your house?"

"It is in the suburbs. There is a metro station - "

Matthew shook his head, an almost-reproachful look in his eyes, and tightened his grip on Ivan's arm. "I don't think that's going to work. I have a hotel room close by. Come on."

He could have objected to that. He didn't. The house would be full of people packing up and moving out, anyway. People who hated him. People who pitied him.

People whom he had failed.

He tried not to think about it.

They reached Matthew's hotel, and to Ivan's surprise they were able to get all the way to his room without anyone stopping or bothering them.

"Lie down," Matthew said, giving him a gentle shove onto the bed. "You need to rest."

Ivan did, and as he watched Matthew bustle about the room a question occurred to him. "Matvei, what did you mean, 'people don't always see me?'"

Matthew didn't immediately answer.

"Here, you're running a fever." He sat down next to Ivan and placed a cold cloth on his forehead. "You never noticed it?"

"Nyet."

"Hmm." He looked almost amused. "I have this...thing, where it's like I turn invisible, and no one sees me. Even Al sometimes doesn't."

Ivan raised an eyebrow.

"It's part of being a nation, I think. Like Al's super-strength, or Arthur's magic." And then, more softly, "Or your heart."

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, you really never noticed the invisibility? I've been doing it this whole time. Look." He closed his eyes, and went still. "See?"

Ivan shook his head, and winced when it pulled at bruises. "I still see you."

"Really?" said Matthew. "That's weird. It works on everyone else. When I was little… well, you know Al's scared of ghosts, right?"

Actually, he hadn't known that, but he nodded his head.

"I used to pretend that I was one, and chase him around…" A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he leaned in, a conspiratorial look in his eyes. "He still thinks the attic's haunted."

At the look on his face Ivan couldn't help but smile in return.

Matthew's expression sobered, as he adjusted the washcloth. "How are you holding up, Ivan? What's going on?"

"I was in prison. They released me into a hospital, but my boss would not have contact with me. I will go to him, tomorrow, and _make_ him listen." His right hand tensed, fingers aching for his pipe.

"That's not good."

"I think that they simply do not know what to do. It is… complicated." He put voice to the worry that had been lingering, silently, in his head, that he wouldn't have dared to say anywhere but here. "It could be that I have become obsolete."

Matthew shook his head. "If enough of them felt that way, you would already be dead."

Familiar words. Matthew squeezed his hand, and Ivan looked up at him, and tried to believe.

* * *

><p>The next day he left early, and intimidated his way into his boss's office. By the end of it he'd managed to make it known that he <em>would<em> be having a part in this, but as he left he knew that it would be another fight again tomorrow, and a long way to go until things normalized.

When it was over Matthew went with him to the now-empty house, took his hand as he surveyed the dusty rooms, the last vestiges of a crumbling empire. He would rebuild it.

"Thank you for being here, Matvei."

In response, Matthew squeezed his hand.

"I regret that I cannot offer you proper hospitality." A thought occurred, and he turned to Matthew. "We ought to meet some other time, when neither of our countries is in crisis."

Matthew smiled. "I'd like that."

* * *

><p>In January 1993, Ivan again found himself vacationing in Alaska. This time, when a knock came at the door, he was expecting it, and opened it without hesitation.<p>

Matthew stood on the doorstep, grinning at him, bags in hand. "Hello!"

"Come in."

Matthew did, looking around as he took off his heavy coat. "You've redecorated."

Ivan smiled. "I have a television now." And blue jeans. He still wasn't sure if he liked those. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, not sure what else to say, until Matthew held up the bags he'd brought.

"I brought groceries."

He hadn't needed to - now that he'd been expecting a guest, Ivan would have made sure to stock up on supplies - but he'd insisted on bringing something. They went to the kitchen and bean unpacking.

"Bread, eggs and...plastic." Ivan held up the jar of bright orange-yellow...something… scrutinizing the label.

"What?" Matthew said, looking over from where he was filling the cabinets. "Oh, it's only Cheez Whiz. Go on, try it!"

Ivan did, and pulled a face. "Tastes like capitalism."

He regretted it as soon as he said it - the words had just slipped out, he hadn't _meant_ anything by them and he was sure that it was offensive -

The next thing he knew Matthew's lips were pressed against his.

Shocked, he froze, and Matthew broke away, a panicked look on his face, and made to leave the room.

Ivan forced himself to find his voice. "No! Wait! It is - _khoroscho_ - it is fine - I just was not expecting -"

He closed his eyes, shutting out the image of Matthew's face before it could break his heard - and heard footsteps -

-and Matthew kissed him again.

He relaxed into it this time, lips softening to meet Matthew's, his hands gripping the kitchen counter because he didn't know what else to do with them. Almost hesitantly, Matthew put a hand to the side of his face, and to his own surprise he leaned into the touch.

When they finally drew apart he realized he didn't want it to end. He let go of the counter, and found that his hands were shaking. He'd meant to take hold of Matthew, to embrace him, but he found he couldn't do it. He held his hands out instead, beseeching.

Matthew stepped forward, and pulled him into a hug, warm and solid and steady.

"Matvei," he said softly. "I am glad that you are with me."

Matthew grinned, and held him tighter. "I am, too."


End file.
